


A Visit to the North Pole

by pupeez4eva



Series: I Saw Grayson Kissing Santa Claus [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-09-14 02:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pupeez4eva/pseuds/pupeez4eva
Summary: Wherein Damian — Santa’s biggest critic — gets trapped in an parallel universe where Santa is real, and all hell breaks loose.





	1. A Christmas Horrorland

**Author's Note:**

> So yes...I've written yet another part to this series. I think this is my most insane idea out of all the one's I've written so far, but I had some inspiration, and I just had to write this xD So let's just see how this goes.
> 
> Plus, it's December, and Christmas is fast approaching, so it's the perfect time for yet another Batfam Christmas fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

He was going to _kill_ Brown.

 

Staring across the icy, barren wasteland in front of him, Damian considered his current predicament, and what had landed him in this situation. 

 

Father had brought home a strange device, and Damian had admittedly been curious. He’d just wanted to take a look, and though Father had warned him not to touch it (apparently playing around with strange alien objects wasn’t advisable, for whatever pointless reason), but Damian had ignored his warnings. He was mature enough — he’d just turned eleven this year, for Christ’s sake — and it wasn’t as if he’d do anything as childish as drop it, or press something he shouldn’t.

 

He paused, memories of his hand accidentally hitting one of the buttons flashing through his mind, and quickly dismissed the thought. Alright, so he had pressed one of the buttons by mistake, but that had purely been Brown’s fault. She’d startled him, her loud, ear-splitting, migraine-inducing voice yelling, “Hey Damian!” with no warning, catching him off guard. He’d been startled and his hand had slipped.

 

Thus, it was clearly all Brown’s fault.

 

He sighed, shaking his head. The device, which Damian supposed was some sort of transporter, was still in his hand, but was clearly broken. He wasn’t sure if it was something he’d done (through Brown’s influence, obviously) or if it had broken along the journey here. He didn’t remember much of anything beyond a sudden flash of light, before he was standing here, his feet buried in a mound of snow, with the broken transporter clutched in his hand.

 

He shivered, clenching his jaw. He needed to find shelter and fast. It was freezing out here, snow falling heavily around him and coating the ground, and he wasn’t dressed appropriately for it. He wasn’t even in his costume, having gotten dressed for bed prior to ducking down to the Batcave for a quick look at the device.

 

(And _why_ Brown thought she had the right to hang around his house at this ungodly hour was beyond him). 

 

Standing around in his pyjamas in his weather was far from ideal, and Damian would _not_ allow himself to lose any limbs because of Brown’s idiocy.

 

Picking up his pace, he tried to ignore the biting cold, or the way his feet dug into the heavy snow. Surely there had to be some sort of civilisation around here, or some place he could — 

 

Wait, what?

 

Damian paused, staring ahead in confusion. There seemed to be lights up ahead, quite a few in fact by the look of it. He quickened his pace, hurrying towards them, yet remained on his guard. He didn’t know what this place was, or what he would find when he got there.

 

When he reached the source of the lights he paused, his eyes widening slightly as he took in his surroundings. It was as if he’d stepped into a alternate dimension. 

 

This area was the polar opposite of the barren place he’d been standing in before. Everything all looked so… _Christmassy._ Yes, surely that was the only appropriate adjective he could use, because this whole place was basically a Christmas wonderland pulled straight out of the dark depth’s of Grayson’s imagination.

 

There were Christmas trees _everywhere,_ all decorated with brightly coloured lights and tinsel. There were small houses scattered along a winding cobbled street, draped with flashing fairy lights. The street was lit by rows of street lights (which, to Damian’s horror, were also covered with brightly coloured lights — what was _wrong_ with this place?!), and in the centre of it all was a huge building that looked like some sort of factory.

 

Damian felt dread curl in his gut. Even though a year had passed since the last Christmas disaster, and he now knew that Santa Claus was none other than a story passed along by idiotic parents to their equally idiotic children (and most likely aimed at preparing them for the true bleak realities of the world), Christmas in general still made him feel uncomfortable. 

 

It of course didn’t help that he’d been _humiliated_ in front of his whole family, and all thanks to Todd. Damian had gone to great lengths to ensure that that would _never_ happen again. 

 

He stood there for a moment longer, considering his options. He could walk back, away from this glittering mess — that was starting to make him feel more than a little nauseous — and back into the cold wasteland behind him, where he’d most likely freeze to death. _Or_ he could stay here and seek refuge in one of these buildings.

 

It was honestly a difficult choice. Damian wasn’t sure _what_ to do.

 

At last he let out a huff, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t about to let a slight discomfort hold him back; he was beyond such childish behaviour. Holding his chin up high, he walked towards the large, factory-like building. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel nearly as cold as it had before. 

 

Damian’s eyes flickered to the side and he caught sight of a sign that cheerfully proclaimed, “Welcome to the North Pole!”

 

Damian scoffed. “Imbeciles. Making replicas of a place that doesn’t even exist.” 

 

He pushed open the doors of the building, which opened without any resistance, and walked inside. The device remained clutched in his hand. Damian decided that he’d stay here until he could either find a way to fix it, or manage to contact his family somehow. If anyone happened to stumble across him, surely they wouldn’t want to throw a child out into the freezing cold.

 

Damian wasn’t fully sure where he was, but it didn’t bother him too much. He’d figure it all out, somehow. The holidays were fast approaching, so it wasn’t unexpected to see Christmas decorations, even if this did seem like far too much. 

 

Damian paused as a soft humming sound met his ears. Up until now he’d been walking down a long corridor, and it had remained empty and silent. He glanced to the side and saw a large door, the words “SANTA” written on the top.

 

He scoffed. Christmas themes aside, this was all taking it a bit far, wasn’t it? 

 

He briefly considered knocking on the door — after all, he _was_ technically an intruder — but then decided that any idiot who decided to either work or live in a Christmas-themed horror land didn’t deserve such courtesy. He pushed the door open, walked inside, and blanched at what he saw.

 

A man had been sitting behind a wide desk, and glanced up as Damian walked in. He frowned, looking confused. “Who are you?” 

 

Damian took in the red suit, the white beard, the ruddy cheeks and obesity, and let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

 

“Really?” he said. _“Really?_ You’re taking this a bit far, aren’t you?”

 

“How did you get here?” the man demanded, standing up. “You aren’t an elf!”

 

Damian scoffed. The man seemed genuinely confused, but he supposed he was simply a good actor. 

 

Then again, Damian had just barged in here without any invitation — and he didn’t even know where _here_ was — so perhaps the confusion wasn’t completely unwarranted. 

 

“I seem to have found myself here unexpectedly,” he said, hoping that it was enough of an explanation for the man. Either way, he didn’t feel like going into depth about how he’d gotten here, especially not with a fool who thought that dressing up like Santa Claus was a good idea. “I’d like to use your phone so I can call my Father and ask him to come and get me.”

 

Father wouldn't be happy though…perhaps Grayson would be a better option. Or Brown, since this whole mess was her fault in the first place.

 

“Where are we?” Damian asked, because it occurred to him that he still didn’t know where he was.

 

“The North Pole,” the man said, still looking utterly bewildered.

 

Damian rolled his eyes. _“Please._ And I suppose you’re Santa Claus?”

 

“…Yes.”

 

He rolled his eyes again. Perhaps a year ago he would have fallen for this trick, but now he was older and wiser, and he knew that Santa wasn’t real. Father had told him so after all, and Father didn’t lie.

 

“Your phone, please,” he said to the imposter. He needed to explain the situation to his family and get out of this hellhole as soon as possible.


	2. Christmas Revelations

For the past half an hour or so ‘Santa’ had been trying to convince Damian that he was the real thing. Damian could feel exhaustion and irritation settling in; it was past his bed time, and he was _tired._

 

“Young man,” the old man said, and Damian’s eye twitched. If the old man referred to him by such demeaning names _one more time,_ he would regret it. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but — ”

 

“I _told_ you, it’s confidential," Damian snapped. "However, if you simply allow me to use your phone, I can contact my Father and ask him to come and collect me.” Father would surely be cross with him for using the device without his permission, but Damian was beyond caring by this point. He was tired, and the amount of Christmas decorations — not to mention this old fool — was making him very uncomfortable.

 

“I told you, young man — ”

 

“You absolute  _idiot,_ if you don’t stop calling me that — ”

 

“ — why would I have a _phone?_ Everyone I need to speak to is right here!”

 

Damian ground his teeth together. He briefly considered pointing out that _surely_ the old man had to be in contact with people outside of this small village — the area surrounding it was a barren wasteland. How did they get their food, their supplies? He seemed fairly dense though, and Damian wasn’t sure if he could deal with that conversation right now. He’d probably snap and end up causing the man bodily harm, and then Father would be even more upset.

 

“Then allow me to talk to someone _else,_ and I’ll see if _they_ have a phone.”

 

“No one has a phone here,” the man said. Damian’s eye twitched. “Why would they? They don’t need to talk to anyone but each other or me.” 

 

"How can  _no one_ have a phone?!"

 

The old man rubbed his chin, humming thoughtfully. “I suppose we could _build_ you a phone…I’d have to check that your name wasn’t on the naughty list first though. What did you say your name was?”

 

He pat the side of a _very_ large pile of papers that looked almost as tall as Damian himself. Damian stared at it for a long moment and then let out a sigh.

 

“Forget it. Just tell me, if I can’t use a phone, then is there _any_ way for me to contact people outside of this place?” Because surely there had to be some way to reach the outside world. There was no way these people could be this secluded.

 

Damian briefly considered the idea that this may be some strange form of mental asylum. He didn’t completely dismiss the idea.

 

The man looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose you could write a letter,” he said. “It might take a year to reach your parents though.”

 

_“Excuse me?”_

 

He shrugged. “We only allow letters to be exchanged during Christmas time, in order for me to receive letters from all the little children asking for their Christmas gifts. Seeing as the official closing date for that has now passed — ”

 

Damian snapped. _“Shut up!”_

 

The man stared.

 

“I don’t believe you!” he spat. “There is no _way_ that you — you — how can you be this _mad — I refuse to stand around and listen to this!”_

 

The man frowned slightly. “That’s quite a lot of anger you have there, young man. I have a feeling you might be on my naughty list.”

 

Damian took a deep breath, summoned as much calm as he could muster, and promptly shoved a fist through the old man’s ‘naughty list.’ Paper flew in every direction before falling to the floor.

 

The man stood still, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. “Wha — how — how dare - ”

 

“I’m leaving,” Damian said, marching towards the doorway. “If I stay here any longer I will _lose my mind.”_

 

Surely there were other people around here who weren’t as crazy as this buffoon. He’d simply find them and demand that they help him. Perhaps someone would have a phone so he could get in contact with Father, and get away this godforsaken hellhole. He honestly wasn’t sure how else to contact his family; he wasn’t wearing his costume, so he didn’t have his communicator with him. 

 

He glanced briefly at the broken device in his hand, and tightened his grip on it. If worse came to worst and he couldn’t get in contact with his family, he’d have to focus on finding some way to fix it. So far, it was the only other thing he could think of that could help him get home.

 

…

 

There were twelve reindeer outside, playing in the snow.

 

Damian stood in front of a large window, taking a moment to accept what he was seeing, before thinking, _‘Please, Lord, someone get me out of here.’_

 

Of course there was a flash of anger — whatever these lunatics were doing, they had _no_ right to drag innocent animals into it — but the more rational part of his brain accepted that he couldn’t do much for them when he didn’t even know where he was. Once he’d found a way to get home, he’d come up with a plan to get them away from this Christmas nightmare, and find them more suitable living arrangements.

 

Still though, it was obvious that whoever had created this place had gone to extreme lengths to make it seem as realistic as possible. It was quite disconcerting, especially when he thought about how he would have viewed all of this a year ago. In his previous mindset, he would have surely thought all of this to be real, and just the thought of the humiliation he would have endured as a result was enough to make him shudder.

 

He turned away from the window and continued his trek down another corridor, his chin held high. He’d been walking for a while now, and the place had remained deserted. It was corridor after corridor, all decorated in nauseating red and green, without another human being in sight. Damian could feel his temper rising and his nerves fraying. 

 

This was ridiculous. Surely there had to be _someone_ around.

 

He came to a large wooden door and almost continued to walk passed it, until the sound of voices met his ears, and he froze. He took a moment, listening intently, and realised that, yes, there were people behind that door.

 

Rather than feeling relief, he felt a wave of anger.

 

_‘Wretched fools. What are you DOING all the way over here, I’ve been walking for AT LEAST an hour…’_

 

He didn’t even consider knocking. Damian reached out, twisted the doorknob, and gave the door a harsh shove. He strode through the now open doorway, and what he saw on the other side made him freeze in his tracks, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated horror.

 

The room he now stood in was large, with high ceilings, and Christmas decorations hanging from every corner. That was hardly alarming — this whole building was covered in Christmas tinsel, baubles and wreaths. It was gruesome.

 

No, the thing that truly horrified him was what was in the room. Or rather,  _who._

 

The entire room was filled to the brim with _elves._

 

Well, Damian thought as he stared in horror at the crowds in front of him, perhaps he was mistaken. They could simply be children in elf costumes…this could be some strange kidnapping scheme, and if that was the case, then surely it was up to him to do something about it.

 

He wasn’t convinced though. They all looked so… _real._ When he'd had a better look at them, it was obvious that they weren’t _children_ , so perhaps these were dwarves dressed as elves? But no, those ears did look _very_ realistic… _alien dwarves?_ Damian rubbed his head in frustration. 

 

The elves/alien dwarves covered every inch of the room, all preoccupied with various activities. They were lined up alongside conveyer belts with brightly coloured presents moving along them. Others were at wooden tables, sorting through piles of presents, and some were scribbling away at what looked like Christmas cards.

 

Each of them were dressed in garish green outfits with spiky red collars and pointed hats. It reminded Damian of the costume that Drake had been wearing the previous Christmas when Damian had confronted the imposter Santa Claus at the mall, and he felt his discomfort grow.

 

The whole scene was just so… _Christmassy._ It was honestly something out of Damian’s worst nightmares. The decorations, the elves (whether they were truly elves or not, it didn’t matter, because just the sight of them brought back memories that he’d rather not be reminded of), the reindeer and the knowledge that, somewhere in this building, there was a man dressed as Santa Claus, was all too much.

 

“Who are you?” a voice to his left demanded. Damian turned and found himself faced with one of the elf-like creatures. “How did you get here? You’re not an elf!”

 

Ah, so they _did_ think of themselves as elves.

 

“Where am I?” Damian demanded.

 

“The North Pole!” the elf answered. “But — you shouldn’t be here! You're just a little boy! How did you get here?” 

 

This was all so confusing. It had to be fake — none of this was _real._ Father, Grayson, Pennyworth, _everyone_ had told him that Santa wasn’t real. They weren’t lying, he was sure of that. But all of this just seemed so realistic. Even those reindeer outside had seemed special; there was something in the way they’d been interacting and playing that hinted that they were more aware than a typical animal should be. 

 

And then this room, and the presents being made and wrapped - it all looked so professional. Had someone _really_ gone to such lengths as some pathetic tribute to Christmas? Or perhaps this was some strange alien planet — that would explain the elves, and…and…

 

He paused, glancing down at the device in his hands, and thought, _‘Oh Dear Lord.’_

 

“You can’t be here,” the elf said, reaching out to take his hand. “I’ll take you to Santa — ”

 

“Touch me and you’ll lose a limb,” Damian snapped. The elf froze, seeming more shocked than afraid, and Damian whirled around, hurrying out the door. The commotion had  attracted the attention of several other elves, but Damian was sure he could easily fight them off if they came after him.

 

His thoughts whirred as he moved hurriedly down the corridor, back in the direction that he’d first came from. 

 

He’d assumed this was some sort of transporter, but what if that wasn’t the case? After all, maybe Santa and all the insanity surrounding him didn’t exist in  _his_ universe, but Damian was well aware that alternate dimensions existed. Perhaps the device was built to allow people to travel to other universes (it wasn’t as if he hadn’t come across similar objects in the past) — and perhaps there were universes where Santa _was_ real — then that would mean that, right now, he was actually in the North Pole.

 

It would mean that those reindeer really were the poor, misfortunate animals that transported Santa’s obese backside across every country in every continent in a single night. It would mean that those elves really were brainwashed and forced to comply with Santa’s every demand, to work to the point of exhaustion in order to prepare presents for every child in this world.

 

It would mean that the man he had spoken to before — the old fool who insisted that Damian was on the naughty list, as if _he_ was the villain in this situation -  _really was Santa Claus._

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he marched with a renewed purpose back towards Santa Claus’ office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I am having WAY too much fun with this fic. Thanks to everyone who read and left comments on the last chapter. I really appreciated it!
> 
> Btw guys I was initially planning on writing 7 chapters, but after working on my plan for this fic a bit more, I've decided to change it to 6. Sorry about that, but I like my outline for this fic a lot more now.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this! :)


	3. Santa’s Nightmare Before Christmas

The old man — or Santa Claus, Damian grudgingly thought, since it was looking more and more likely that he was the real thing — looked up the moment Damian burst through the doors of his office with a look of determination on his face.

 

“Wha — you again?!” he exclaimed. He started to murmur under his breath, more to himself than to Damian, “I thought one of the elves would have dealt with this by now…I would’ve tried to contact them, but it is a bit of a journey to get to their workroom from my office…”

 

Damian rolled his eyes. “That’s why you need a phone and a weight loss plan, you fool.” 

 

Santa looked incredulous. “Excuse me?”

 

“I’ve figured it all out,” Damian said, cutting him off. Now that he was here, face to face with a man he’d happily call his nemesis (even if he was, of course, far superior), he felt far more relaxed than he ever would’ve expected. He supposed it was because the urgency from the previous year was no longer there — Grayson was far away, most likely in some other dimension, and Santa had no way of getting to him or any member of his family. Unfortunately that also meant he couldn’t get to Drake, but sacrifices had to be made.

 

Here, in this strange, disgustingly Christmas-orientated world, Santa had nothing to hold over Damian. Damian, on the other hand, had experience in crime fighting and assassination; and while he wouldn’t kill the old man — Father would be furious, and Grayson would be disappointed — he’d make sure to teach him a lesson.

 

“This isn’t a transporter,” Damian said, holding the device out. “It’s a device that allows people to travel across dimensions.”

 

“What?”

 

Damian sighed. “I’m in an alternate dimension. One where you, unfortunately, are real.”

 

“How on earth — ”

 

“Shut up and listen to your superiors, old man. The point is, I’m stuck here until I can either fix this device, or find some other way to get home.”

 

Santa stood up from his chair. “I’m sure this isn’t as bad as you’re making it sound. Young man —”

 

“I told you not to use such demeaning nicknames with me,” Damian snapped, cutting him off again. “I am far superior to you in mental and physical strength. Now I suppose I could ask you to send me straight back to my home dimension, but it might be a little too complicated…the best option would be to fix this thing and to work out what I did to end up here in the first place.”

 

Santa stared at him for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing. At last he said, hesitantly, “Perhaps we should sit down and have a little chat. Since you…obviously aren’t in a hurry to leave.” He grimaced slightly. “And of course I would never throw a young child out into the cold.”

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You are _not_ keeping me hostage here.” 

 

“That’s not what I meant!”

 

“I am here because I have no other option — but if I sense any untoward behaviour from you, I will be leaving this place only _after_ causing you extreme bodily harm.”

 

He’d most likely be doing that anyway, but the old man didn’t need to know that at this precise moment.

 

“Young man,” Santa said, sounding more confused than afraid — what a fool, Damian thought scornfully — “I understand your concern. If your…story is true, than you must be very afraid.” His words were filled with doubt, and it was obvious that he didn’t fully believe Damian. Well, that didn’t matter. Damian didn’t really need Santa’s cooperation with the next stage of his plan.

 

Still though, how _dare_ the man insinuate that he was _afraid —_ especially by something as mundane as this. Who did he think he was, Drake?

 

“I can’t let you speak to me that way,” Santa continued, drawing Damian from his thoughts. “I’m almost certain that you must be on my naughty list.”

 

Damian's eyes narrowed. “Does being on your naughty list mean that you won’t be visiting my house?”

 

Santa nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so.”

 

“Good! As if I’d want you invading my father’s property, placing your _filthy_ lips on my brother’s — ”

 

“…Excuse me?” The old man had the gall to sound confused, as if he genuinely thought that Damian wasn’t on to him. Oh, this may have been an alternate dimension, but Damian wasn’t going to let that fool him. In his own universe he’d quickly learnt that the reason so many mothers were accused of kissing Santa Claus was because ‘Santa’ was often the father’s of their children, dressed up for whatever inane reason. Here, in a place where Santa was apparently real, those fathers wouldn’t need to dress up and make fools of themselves.

 

Therefore, the only person who would be kissing those women would be Santa himself. The old pervert was at work, and Damian would _not_ fall for his lies.

 

“I’m on to you,” Damian snapped, while Santa continued to gape at him in confusion. “Perhaps Santa is non-existent in my world, but you’re here now, and that means that the very same grudge I held against you in my own home is still here a tenth fold. “ Damian took a threatening step forward, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “You are nothing more than a pervert and a fraud, and I would love nothing more than to see your empire crumble to the ground.”

 

Santa’s mouth opened and closed silently.

 

 _‘Devious snake,’_ Damian thought.

 

He sighed, and relaxed his stance slightly. “However, I can’t do that, at least not yet. Unfortunately, I need you around in order to get home.”

 

Damian grimaced slightly. He didn’t like the thought of needing the wretched old man’s help for anything. Luckily his current plan didn’t require Santa’s active participation — and Damian would make sure to make it as uncomfortable as possible.

 

Santa seemed to snap out of whatever shocked state he’d been in. His eyes narrowed. “Look here, young man,” he said sternly, “I like to think that I am a patient man, but I will not accept this kind of behaviour — you come into my home, you damage my property, you speak to me with such disrespect — ”

 

Damian’s eye twitched. He’d like to think that he’d at least considered letting the man continue talking for a while, unbothered by whatever nonsense the old fool was sprouting, but the truth was that the sound of his voice was starting to give Damian a headache.

 

He strode forward, grabbed the nearest heavy object — a paperweight on Santa’s desk in the shape of a present — and promptly hit him over the head with it. Santa toppled to the floor, out like a light.

 

“Weakling,” Damian muttered, staring at him for a moment. The man hadn’t even put up the slightest fight; honestly, how had he survived all these millennia? 

 

 _‘Then again,’_ Damian thought, as he looked around the room for something to tie him up with, _‘I don’t suppose elves or reindeer pose much of a threat, and they seem to be the only company he has in this hellhole.’_

 

…

 

When Santa eventually came to, he was propped against the wall, his arms pinned to his side, and his legs tied together with rows of Christmas lights. When a search of the office had proved fruitless, Damian had stepped outside and grabbed an armful of the decorations. It wasn’t as if anyone would miss these; they were all over the damn place.

 

Damian had then tied Santa up, and had proceeded to sit cross legged on the floor in front of him, waiting patiently for him to wake up. Most of that wait had been spent reminiscing about the previous Christmas with a feeling of smug triumph.

 

Santa blinked dazedly for a moment. His eyes focused on Damian, and they widened in alarm.

 

“You — what — _HELP!”_

 

Damian snorted. “Yell as much as you want. Your elves are down a series of corridors, far away from here, and you were too stupid to ensure that you had a way to contact them easily.” He smiled darkly. “No one will hear you scream.”

 

“What is _happening_ right now?!” Santa demanded, desperation in his voice. “What did I ever do to you?!”

 

“You almost destroyed my sanity last Christmas — that’s what! But it’s not about me, it’s about the others. You creep around the houses of young children — ”

 

“Of course I do, it’s my job! I leave them presents — ”

 

“Yes, presents that they pay for with the virtues of their mothers and mother figures!” Damian slammed his fist on the floor to emphasise his point.

 

_“What?!”_

 

“You! Going around and kissing unsuspecting women and men!”

 

Santa looked scandalised. “I’m married!”

 

 _“Please._ At least come up with a better excuse than that.”

 

“Who are you?” Santa asked, his voice trembling. He seemed genuinely afraid now. “Are you even a child?!”

 

“I’m eleven years old,” Damian said, “of course I’m not a child, you fool!” He took a deep breath, trying to reign his anger in. The old man was afraid now, and that was all well and good, but Damian couldn’t allow himself to lose control. He needed him for the next phase of his plan, and perhaps having him relatively intact for it would be a good idea. “Anyway, this isn’t about my hatred of you. This is about me needing to get home.”

 

Santa swallowed. “Then — then untie me, and I’ll fix that toy of yours.”

 

“Dimension travelling device.”

 

“Yes! Yes, that! I — I have magic!” Santa’s voice was growing louder with desperation now.

 

Damian rolled his eyes. “If you’re so competent with your use of magic, then why are you still tied up?”

 

“Because I’m trying not to aggravate someone who is obviously _insane!”_ Santa yelled. His cheeks immediately turned red, and he ducked his head, a somewhat guilty expression appearing on his face. “I…I shouldn’t be speaking to a child like that…”

 

Damian snorted. _Please._ The fool had thought he could trick _him_ with that jolly old man routine of his? Damian was hardly some idiotic child. 

 

“I don’t want your help,” he said. He glanced out the window briefly, studying the snow-covered world outside. Remove all the Christmas decorations, and it would actually be quite a lovely place. It as a pity it was tainted by certain unwanted presences.

 

He focused his attention back on Santa, who was eyeing him warily. “It’s true that you have magic,” he said, his voice mild. “However, my research tells me that your elves most likely do as well.”

 

His ‘research’ had taken place quite extensively over the last Christmas. He’d scoured the library for almost every book he could find that was somehow related to Christmas, and had tirelessly searched the internet. No expense had been spared in is quest to discover the truth.

 

Of course, he’d ultimately thought that it had all been for nothing — Todd, that useless _idiot —_ but as it turned out, his efforts had proved useful after all.

 

Santa looked confused. “Uh — yes they can, but — ”

 

“Then I’ll ask _them_ for help,” he said, pleased that his plan was working for now. After all, there’s no way he’d ever trust Santa himself to help him — the old snake would most likely try to double cross him at the first opportunity — but surely the elves, who had every reason to despise Santa after a millennia trapped under his control, would be willing to help?

 

And if they couldn’t be reached by reason and logic, then he would make sure to give them the right incentive to help him. 

 

“I’ll be using you as a bargaining chip,” he told Santa. “Now — let’s pay a visit to your elves!”


	4. The Elf  Uprising

When Damian made his way into the Elf workroom, dragging Santa unceremoniously behind him, the elves barely even reacted.

 

Damian let out an annoyed huff and coughed loudly. Only one of them looked up, but she luckily had a _very_ loud voice — one shriek, and the rest of the hoard were staring at him, all letting out alarmed yells of their own.

 

Well. Damian was sure that once they’d had a nice, civil chat, and he fully explained the situation to them, they’d be a lot more understanding. And if not…he _was_ holding their leader hostage. He was at an advantage here.

 

“Santa!” one elf yelled, hurrying over, his eyes wide in horror. “What have you done?!”

 

“Stop, or he’ll regret it!” Damian warned.

 

“It’s really not so bad,” Santa said, although the nervousness in his voice betrayed him. “The young lad simply has me tied up — although I’ll admit, it _is_ a little tight.”

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed, and he gave him a swift kick to the gut.

 

“Oh dear Lord,” Santa wheezed.

 

“Santa!” the elf yelled, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ll save you, sir!”

 

“No, Noel!” Santa cried. He’d recovered from that kick far too quickly for Damian’s liking. Magical healing properties, perhaps? “Stay where you are! The boy is clearly unstable.”

 

 _Unstable?_ Hardly. Damian had _very_ good control of himself these days, and any violence he exhibited right now was completely voluntary. 

 

“Oh my God, he’s killing Santa,” another elf, female this time, whimpered.

 

_“Santa!”_

 

“Someone save him!”

 

“Get the weapons!”

 

“What weapons, _we just have toys!”_

 

 _“ENOUGH!”_ Damian roared. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He’d been hoping to read a nice book before bed — he’d bribed Grayson into buying him a whole stack the other day — and the last thing he wanted to do was waste precious time in this hellhole. “Quieten down all of you. I mean you no harm! Rather, I come to you asking for your help. Tell me — who is in charge?”

 

Silence dragged on for a moment as the elves all exchanged glances, unsure of whether to answer or not. 

 

“Santa is!” someone declared at last.

 

Damian’s eye twitched. “I meant among the _elves._ Surely you must have a leader of some sort?” 

 

Santa coughed. “Noel over there is my Head Elf,” he said, nodding towards the elf who had first approached Damian. “He’s in charge of overseeing all operations around here — ”

 

Damian cut him off. “That’s enough out of you.” He turned to the elf — Noel — and nodded his head. “Very well. Noel — you have magic, correct?” 

 

Because surely if the fat oaf had magical properties, these creatures must have some grasp of it. Many of the Christmas tales he’d come across in his research had mentioned this. Damian hoped, for his sake, that these were accurate. He needed a way to get home, and he doubted the elves would be able to fix the broken device through pure skill alone. 

 

Noel crossed his arms in front of him. “That’s right. We all do.”

 

Damian gave him a curt nod. He held up the device. “Can you fix this?” 

 

Noel barely spared it a glance, rolling his eyes. “I can fix _anything,”_ he said, almost arrogantly. “How do you think we make all these presents?” He gestured at the piles of gifts around him. A number of elves nodded their heads in agreement.

 

“We’re really good at it too!” another elf said, her head bopping eagerly. “We’ve been doing it for centuries!”

 

“Sugar Plum, let me deal with this,” Noel said.

 

Damian blanched. “You let him call you such a ghastly pet name?!”

 

The female elf looked confused. “It’s…my name…”

 

 _‘Oh Dear Lord,’_ Damian thought. Ignoring the urge to voice his thoughts on her atrocious name — if Drake ever mentioned his lack of restraint again, he’d make sure to reference _this_ moment — he said, “I need you to fix this for me. Then, I will be on my way.”

 

Noel’s eyes widened. _“Fix_ it?! Why should I?! You’ve tied Santa up and you’re holding him hostage! You're _clearly_ on the naughty list!” The last part was spoken with considerable contempt, and Damian realised that, to these elves, saying that someone was on the ‘naughty list’ was probably akin to insulting a person in the worst way possible.

 

“And we don’t like kids who are on the naughty list,” another elf said coldly, confirming Damian’s theory.

 

There was a murmur of assent from the crowd.

 

Damian let out a huff of frustration. _“Yes_ , I am holding Santa Claus hostage, but it’s not to use him against you! I have nothing against _you_ lot — you’re as much a victim in all of this as I am, or as any other child is!”

 

Alright, so perhaps that wasn’t necessarily true. He had fully intended to use the old man against them, but being here, standing amongst the crowds of _clearly_ brainwashed elves, he was starting to realise that they had very little say in any of this. Santa’s manipulation had clearly affected this group greatly, and Damian didn’t think he could hold that against them, not when he _knew_ what a master manipulator the man was.

 

The crowd exploded with protests.

 

“What are you talking about?!”

 

“Yeah! Santa hasn’t done anything wrong!”

 

“He’s so cool!”

 

“We couldn’t do _any_ of this without him!”

 

Damian ground his teeth together, struggling to maintain his composure. Screaming at them wouldn’t do any good. “Alright, if everyone insists on speaking, hold up your hand and wait for me to address you.” 

 

By now he had realised that each elf had their name stitched onto the front of their outfits. At least it helped him to learn their names without having to constantly ask for them.

 

A number of hands went up. Damian scanned the crowd, and then pointed at one of the elves who had the word ‘Bauble’ etched onto his shirt.

 

He really needed to speak to them about potentially changing their names. _Surely_ they couldn’t actually _like_ them.

 

First, however, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

 

“I want to know what you're talking about!” Bauble cried. “Santa hasn't done anything wrong!”

 

Damian snorted. “Of course he has. _Look_ at you! He has you trapped here, working for you. He doesn’t pay you — ” Well, he assumed they weren’t paid, because none of the stories he’d read had ever mentioned anything about _pay._ It was just a seemingly endless load of work, as the elves tirelessly prepared all the toys for Christmas with no apparent help from their beloved Santa Claus. “He makes you work constantly…does he ever let you _leave_ this frozen wasteland?!” 

 

The elves exchanged uneasy glances. One of them held up a hand.

 

“You.”

 

The elf — Holly, her shirt read — said, “Why would we need to leave? _Santa_ delivers the presents, not us!”

 

Damian scoffed. “And what do you have here? A never ending workload?”  

 

“We like working,” Bauble protested, like the perfect little brainwashed lacky.

 

“Hands up first! And how would you know? Have you ever done anything else? Does he even _pay_ you for all your hard work?!”

 

Obviously any form of order he’d attempted to implement had failed, because now everyone was yelling over the top of each other.

 

“We don’t need pay!” an elf named Tinsel — _Tinsel,_ Dear Lord, Damian really needed to do _something_ about these names — yelled. “We’re happy!”

 

Well, he was right about the lack of pay then. 

 

“You’re happy having the old man take advantage of you? Don’t be daft — he’s using you!”

 

Santa, who had, much to Damian’s pleasure, been quiet for the past few minutes, decided now would be a good time to speak up (if Damian had bothered to glance at the older man while the chaos had been unfolding, he would’ve seen that the reason for Santa’s silence was the sheer, unadulterated horror on his face as he watched centuries of work and order crumble).

 

“I would never do that! They’re here because they want to be!”

 

Damian shot him a venomous glare. “This is slavery!”

 

Santa blanched. _“No!”_

 

“So you pay them, do you? Allow them sick and annual leave, public holiday rates — ”

 

“They’re _elves.”_

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Why you prejudiced old fool.”

 

Santa’s mouth opened and closed silently. “Look,” he said at last, his voice weak, “I’m magical, okay? I — I can fix that thing for you. I can help you get home!”

 

Damian sneered. “As if I’d ever accept _your_ help. I’m sure one of your elves would be more than willing to help.”

 

He turned back to the crowd of elves, who looked nothing like the defiant, protective hoard from before. Now they simply looked confused and discontent. Damian held back a smile, and decided that this was going exactly how he wanted.

 

He turned to Noel, Santa’s apparent ‘Head Elf.’ “This isn’t right. When was the last time any of you took a break?” 

 

He was honestly grasping at straws right now. He had no idea how things really worked around here, but he had a feeling that he wasn’t wrong.

 

“We don’t need a break,” Noel said, frowning. “What would we do if we weren’t working?” 

 

Damian blinked, incredulous. “There is _so_ much more! You’re telling me that you’ve never sat down and watched a movie? Gone to the park? Gone out for ice-cream, spent a day at the beach — ?” 

 

Oh Dear God, he was starting to sound like _Grayson._ The sound of his own voice was starting to make him feel a bit nauseous; he really needed to stop.

 

“What’s… _eyes cream?”_

 

Or perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures. 

 

“Where I come from,” he said, his eyes roaming over the crowd — and ignoring Santa’s desperate protests from beside him — “People work, yes, but they are _paid_ for it. They get money that they can _buy_ things with.”

 

The elves let out hushed murmurs, and exchanged amazed glances.

 

“And they don’t work all day. They have time to do other things, like — spend time with their families and friends, and work, and train.”

 

Oh God, he _definitely_ sounded like Grayson now. He’d need to scrub his mouth with soap the first opportunity he got. He was just glad none of his family were around to witness this humiliation.

 

The elves seemed oblivious to his embarrassment, too busy murmuring in awe.

 

“How can this be?”

 

“It sounds like a dream!”

 

“Can such a thing _exist?”_

 

“They even get to take holidays sometimes,” Damian added, because now that he’d started, he might as well go the whole, humiliating, disgustingly inspirational way. “Sometimes it’s weeks at a time, and they just sit around, doing nothing all day.” Unless they were Father, and a holiday was basically just extra training. Until Pennyworth or Grayson got ahold of him, of course. “And — ” He paused for dramatic effect. The elves leaned forward, listening in rapt attention. “ — They’re _paid_ for it.”

 

Gasps echoed around the room, almost bordering on scandalised.

 

“Santa,” Noel said, eyes wide in betrayal, “Is this true?”

 

Santa spluttered. “How should I know?! It’s not like I get out much — I leave this place _one_ night a year, and I’m working the whole damn time!”

 

Sugar Plum cocked her head to the side. “But…what do you do when you’re _not_ working?”

 

“Wha — preparing for the one night a year when I _do_ work, of course!” He glanced uneasily at the crowd. “What — why are you looking at me that way?” 

 

Noel’s eyes narrowed. “Santa…are you telling me that we work non-stop _every day of the year,_ and you…do nothing?”

 

“But — there’s nothing for me to do! All my work pretty much just happens in the days leading up to Christmas. How can Santa possibly be working in _October,_ or _November,_ or — or _January!_ It’s absurd!” He let out a loud, booming laugh, and was met with dead silence.

 

He stopped abruptly, staring at them in confusion.

 

“…You could help _us.”_

 

“What?” Santa seemed genuinely bewildered. “I’m Santa! I have my job, and that’s delivering presents every year — and my God, it’s a _hard_ job! You’re elves — you prepare the gifts, you get everything ready. That’s a year long commitment! Surely you understand that?”

 

“Slave driver.”

 

Santa turned to Damian, looking furious. “Now, see here — ”

 

“We’ll help you,” Noel said abruptly, turning to Damian.

 

Santa’s head snapped towards him. _“What?!”_

 

Noel glanced at him, scowling. “You haven’t been treating us right, Santa. We — we idolised you! But then this young man comes here, and tells us about all these amazing things that we could’ve only dreamed off, and we find out that those things are _normal_ where he comes from! Why can’t we get paid leave? Why can’t we get _paid?”_

 

“What would you even _do_ with money?! You never leave!” Santa shook his head, looking frustrated. “Just — untie me! This is ridiculous! If you don’t get back to work, the presents will never be ready in time for Christmas!”

 

“We aren’t untying you!”

 

The crowd let out loud noises of agreement. Damian felt his chest warm. Oh, this was wonderful. 

 

“From now on, _we_ are in charge!”

 

Santa spluttered. “ _Excuse_ me?!”

 

“Yeah!” Tinsel yelled. “We don’t need you! We basically run this place anyway!”

 

“I can go lock him in his office?” Bauble offered.

 

Noel shook his head. “No, keep him here. I want to keep an eye on him.”

 

Santa’s head was moving rapidly from side to side, his eyes wide in horror. “You can’t _do_ this! Who will deliver the presents?! Think of the children! They’ll be so disappointed to wake up on Christmas morning and discover that they haven’t received anything!”

 

Damian rolled his eyes. “ _Please_. They’ll have plenty of gifts from they're parents. They don’t need _you.”_

 

He turned his attention to Noel, who was making his way over.

 

“Young man — ”

 

“My name is Damian.”

 

“Damian. You’ve shown us the light of day. Until now, I didn’t know such amazing things existed. Please — let us help you.”

 

Damian smirked. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

 

Oh yes, this was going _splendidly._ He’d honestly intended to simply use Santa as a bargaining chip to get the elves to agree to help him in exchange for his freedom. This was more than he could have ever dreamed of. 

 

He shot a glance at Santa, who looked like he was trapped in his worst nightmare, and wondered why he’d been so desperate for Todd’s help the previous Christmas. If it had turned out that Santa _had_ been real, he would’ve handled himself just fine.


	5. A Merry Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elves cheered, Santa groaned, and Damian thought, _‘This is going to be hard to explain to Father.’_

Despite Santa’s continued protests — the old man refused to quieten down, and kept voicing his thoughts on how _ridiculous_ they were being — Noel took charge. He tasked Bauble, Tinsel and Holly with watching Santa. The three elves stood vigilantly, long rolls of wrapping paper in their hands.

 

Damian stared at them blankly. “You…don’t have a more effective weapons to use?”

 

“There’s no need for weapons!” Santa spluttered. “What do you think this is, a war?!”

 

“A revolution,” Damian corrected. 

 

“These actually make really good weapons!” Tinsel chirped, waving the roll around proudly. It accidentally hit Santa on the head, and the old man let out a yelp.

 

Damian shrugged. He still doubted their effectiveness, but he didn’t think the old man would be going anywhere. Those Christmas lights were a surprisingly good replacement for rope.

 

Noel then tasked Sugar Plum and a small group of elves with taking a look at the device.

 

“Sugar Plum is _great_ with our electronics,” he told him. “I’m sure she’ll be able to do something about this.”

 

Well, on one hand, a device capable of travelling across dimensions was very different from a children’s electronic toy; on the other hand, these creatures _did_ have magic, and it was either this or trusting Santa Claus.

 

Damian would be doing that last option over his own dead body, so he was just going to have to hope that this worked.

 

If not…well, he would cross that bridge when it came to it.

 

“Why don’t I show you around while we wait?” Noel suggested.

 

Damian shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. Though he shot Santa a quick distrusting look before he left. “You’ll make sure he stays where he is?” 

 

“Oh, of course!” Tinsel said, nodding quickly. “Santa betrayed us all, and we’re not letting him go _anywhere!”_  

 

“We will have retribution!” Bauble yelled, slamming his role of gift wrapping on the floor for emphasis.

 

“This is _ridiculous!”_ Santa yelled. They all chose to ignore him.

 

…

 

Honestly, there wasn’t much to see in the factory. Other than the workroom itself, and Santa’s office, there were rows of winding corridors, windows displaying the snowy world outside, and a nauseating amount of Christmas decorations.

 

One thing that did interest Damian were the reindeer. He caught sight of them again, playing outside in the snow, and he couldn't help but stop and stare.

 

They truly were magnificent creatures. They deserved _so_ much better.

 

“Your world sounds truly amazing,” Noel said, a hint of awe in his voice. “To think — you take _holidays._ And buy things for yourself!”

 

Damian’s eye twitched. “It’s really not some shocking phenomenon.” It _shouldn’t_ be — the old man had obviously done some serious damage here. Damian was just glad he’d gotten here in time to fix this mess.

 

Obviously all the elves had needed was a little guidance, and someone to explain the disturbing truth of their circumstances. Damian couldn’t _wait_ to get home and tell Grayson and Father all about this. Surely they would be pleased with him, knowing that he had selflessly saved the lives of dozens of poor souls.

 

(He’d also make sure to rub it in Drake’s nose — while that idiot had wasted time masquerading around as one of Santa’s elves the previous Christmas, Damian had managed to unite _real_ elves in one common, noble goal). 

 

“Yes,” Noel agreed, “I guess it isn’t for you. But — I only hope my life can be like that someday!” 

 

“Just leave this place, and I can assure you that it will be,” Damian told him. Of course it wasn’t as simple as that — they’d need jobs, and he was sure that a sudden influx of elves would cause quite a bit of confusion. Did this world even have aliens, and sorcerers and superheroes? — but surely leaving was the first step. They looked like capable creatures, and Damian was sure they’d find some way to manage.

 

He turned his attention back to the Reindeer. “Make sure to take them with you,” he said. He didn’t like the idea of leaving them here with the old man.

 

He continued to watch them for a moment longer. Then, his brow furrowed as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Does he _really_ see when you are sleeping?” 

 

“What?”

 

“That awful song, the one about Santa Claus coming into town — is it true?” 

 

(It didn't really occur to Damian that, since the elves never actually left the North Pole, they probably weren't well aquatinted with the song). 

 

Noel frowned thoughtfully as he considered Damian’s question. “I guess,” he said at last, shrugging. “I mean, he is Santa, right? He just knows these things.”

 

Damian grimaced. “Oh, that pervert. And did he truly run over an old lady?” 

 

Noel looked baffled.

 

“My friend, Colin Wilkes, is an expert of these ‘Christmas Carols’ that people seem to love." Well, Colin had seemed to know all about them last Christmas, and he was the only person Damian knew who had considered the true, malicious undertones of the songs. That made him an expert in Damian's opinion. "I, of course, have realised what they must be the equivalent of in this world — history texts, true stories of Santa’s life.” 

 

“Uh…” Noel still looked confused, but nodded his head anyway. “Sure, I guess.”

 

Damian scoffed. “A pervert _and_ a murderer. And they celebrate this man’s arrival each year? God, if only there was a way to show people the truth!”

 

Well, he didn’t have enough time to pull a feat like that off, but at least he’d done his best for these poor creatures.

 

He caught sight of another line of tinsel hanging from the ceiling from the corner of his eye and he grimaced. Enough was enough; he’d spent enough time here, and if he was here any longer, he’d surely have images of holly and fairy lights imprinted in his brain forever.

 

“Let’s return to the workshop,” he told Noel. “I want to see if Sugar Plum has made any progress.”

 

He was more than ready to go home.

 

Also — he _needed_ to talk to Sugar Plum, and many of these elves, about potentially changing their names. He didn’t know how they’d gotten them, but they were _atrocious._

 

…

 

The device had been fixed, through some sort of elven magic. Damian wasn’t going to question it too much, so long as it worked.

 

“We’ll miss you, Damian,” Noel told him, his voice solemn. “You’ve shown us the light.”

 

“You told us things we could only have dreamed of,” Tinsel added.

 

“You’ve inspired us!”

 

“We have so much to look forward to!”

 

“I might get a gift… _for myself.”_

 

“Would somebody _please_ untie me?!” 

 

Damian’s eye twitched at the last one. He’d almost forgotten that the old man was _still here._

 

“I wish we could come with you,” Noel said, sighing. “I feel like we could be great friends, and we still have so much to learn from you.” 

 

Damian frowned. He didn’t particularly dislike the elves, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted them around on a permanent basis either. Then again, he thought, eyeing the repaired device in his hand, they _were_ apparently quite useful. And it was always nice to have an army on hand…

 

“Then come with me. I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t.”

 

The elves stared at him in amazement.

 

“Yes,” he said, inspired by his own words, “We’ll _all_ leave this frozen wasteland. Let me show you the wondrous things the _real_ world has to offer!”

 

“What about the children?” Santa protested.

 

Damian waved a hand dismissively. “Their parents will buy them plenty of gifts. I’m sure they won’t miss you too much. Not to mention, you’ll be _saving_ them money from all those milk and cookies you regularly consume.”

 

“I don’t eat _all_ of them. I feed some to the reindeer as well!”

 

“And do you know if those cookies are a suitable treat for reindeer? They could have very specific dietary requirements!”

 

And speaking of the reindeer…

 

“We’ll be taking the reindeer with us as well,” Damian decided. There was no way he could leave them behind, after all, especially not if all the elves were coming with him.

 

“Oh, Damian has such a kind heart,” someone murmured. Damian inwardly smirked; take _that_ Drake!

 

“Yes,” Damian said, turning to face the crowd, “I will provide you with food, drink and shelter — and more importantly, _freedom!”_

 

The elves cheered, Santa groaned, and Damian thought, _‘This is going to be hard to explain to Father.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left after this!   
> Sorry it took so long for me to update! I was hoping to have this done by Christmas, but obviously that didn't end up happening.


	6. Ho-Ho-Home Again

Dick was panicking, and he was pretty sure the rest of the family were too. They didn’t show it, because everyone in this family were at a certain level of emotional stuntedness, but when your brother disappeared while holding a device that allowed you to travel to _parallel dimensions_ , it’d be natural to worry.  
  
Stephanie had woken them up in a panic, rambling about how she’d “lost Dami,” and Dick had naturally freaked out because this was _Damian_ , and it was Dick’s job to protect him.  
  
“What was he even doing with it?” Bruce muttered, shaking his head. “I told him I didn’t want him touching it.”  
  
Jason snorted. “And that’s exactly why he did it. The kid might hide it, but deep down, he’s just a little shit who’ll always do the opposite of what his parents say. Like every other kid.”  
  
“I think you’re confusing him with yourself.”  
  
“Shut it, Replacement.”  
  
“Would you stop arguing?” Dick snapped. Oh, he’d been thrilled when his family had all decided to stay the night after that night’s patrol — he’d _always_ be thrilled at having them all here, together, especially after all the crap they’d gone through over the last few years — but the one thing he hadn’t missed were the frequent arguments. They were just making his anxiety even worse.  
  
The fact was, the events of last Christmas were still vivid in his mind. He still remembered the raw feeling of panic when he discovered that Damian was missing, and the fear as they hurried over to the hospital. He remembered the mounting confusion as he tried to piece together what was going on in his brother’s head in the lead up to that Christmas, and not knowing what to do, or how to help him.  
  
Now, Christmas was fast approaching again, and Damian was missing _again_. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d fixed that whole Santa Claus mess last year (and God, Dick didn’t think there’d ever be an occasion when he’d be okay with ruining someone’s childhood, but telling Damian that Santa wasn’t real had just felt so damn _good_ ) and this was supposed to be a nice, quiet, normal Christmas.  
  
Well as nice, quiet and normal as things could get in this house.  
  
“Dick,” Cass said. When he glanced up, she was staring at him, concern in her eyes.  
  
“I’m okay, Cass,” Dick told her, knowing that he must look like a mess. “I’m just worried about Damian.”  
  
“We’ll find a way to get him back." Despite Bruce's words, Dick could hear the worry in his voice. “And Damian’s smart — for all we know, he could be on his way back right now…”  
  
Then there was a flash of blue light, and suddenly Damian was standing in front of them, surrounded by…elves?   
  
Oh yeah, those definitely looked like elves. And holy shit, were those _reindeer?_   
  
“Damian,” Bruce said, _“what_ is going on?”  
  
Dick was pretty sure Bruce had been preparing a big old disappointed, “How could you do something so _irresponsible?”_ speech for when Damian got back, so the fact that he’d skipped right over that completely spoke to how confused he must be.  
  
For a moment the two groups stared at each other silently, unsure of what to say.   
  
“…Why do they look like elves?” Steph asked at last.  
  
“Because they are,” Damian said calmly. “I made an unexpected trip to an alternate version of the North Pole, where Santa Claus was real, as was his reign of Christmas terror. I, of course, could not let that be.”  
  
Oh. Well then.  
  
“Um…” Steph blinked. “…Sorry I asked?”  
  
“He’s kidding, right?” Tim muttered.  
  
Dick’s eyes scanned the group of so-called elves, and decided that they definitely looked the part. But seriously though, the tale was so crazy, and if it was anyone but Damian saying it Dick would’ve had serious doubts.  
  
Damian didn’t make a habit of joking around, and ever since the last Christmas, he’d taken care to avoid any mention of anything to do with Santa Claus.  
  
“…What the actual fuck?” Jason said at last, which Dick thought summed everything up pretty well.  
  
…  
  
“…And then when I realised the frankly appalling conditions that the old man had them working in — they were working for _days_ on end, with no pay, no leave, _nothing_ — I decided that I couldn’t stand by and allow that to happen. How could I face you Father, let alone _myself_ , with the knowledge that I’d allowed this slavery to happen?”  
  
“That’s…good, Damian,” Bruce said after a slight pause. He didn’t seem to know what else to say.  
  
The elves were looking around the Batcave, their eyes wide with awe.   
  
Dick’s eyes were shining .“I’m proud of you.” How could he _not_ be, when his baby brother had such a big heart?   
  
Bruce’s eye twitched, and he shot him a glare. “Yes, you did a very good deed Damian, but what are we supposed to _do_ with them now?”  
  
Steph snickered. “Oh come on Bruce, he couldn’t just _leave_ them there!”   
  
She was clearly loving this.  
  
Damian sighed. “We will, of course, be providing the elves with a start-up so they can find their way in this strange new place.” He turned to them. “Don’t worry — it may seem daunting at first, but we have aliens here who have made this world their home. You will undoubtedly find your place.”  
  
“I don’t even know what to say,” Tim muttered, his voice weak.  
  
Jason chose that moment to burst into hysterical laughter. “Okay, you are going to tell me _everything_ — every little fucking detail — and we are going to sell the rights to Disney or something and turn this into some hit movie, and then make _millions_. I’m thinking we call it “Santa Faces his Demons” or “Santa’s Worst Nightmare (Before Christmas).”  
  
Tim looked incredulous. “Seriously?”  
  
“Hey, what about a Tim Burton movie?” Stephanie asked excitedly. “Can you imagine a little Tim Burton-esque computer animated Damian?”  
  
 _“Fuck_ he’d be creepier than usual.”  
  
One of the elves frowned, and turned to Damian. “I’m sorry — is this normal human behaviour?”  
  
Damian snorted. “None of these buffoons are good examples of ‘normal’ human behaviour, Noel. I suppose I am the primary example of an exemplary human being — though I’d hardly call myself ‘normal’.”  
  
Tim rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call you normal either.”  
  
Cass smiled and pat one of the reindeer on the head, who nuzzled itself closer to her. Dick noted that there was twelve of them here, and the whole situation was so damn surreal.  
  
There was also no sign of the big man in red himself, which made Dick suddenly feel very concerned.  
  
Well, he had faith that Damian hadn’t brutally murdered him. His brother had grown a lot over the last few years. Plus, none of the elves looked particularly traumatised — a bit too happy, if anything — so that had to be a good sign, right?  
  
“Father, can you ask Pennyworth to prepare some rooms for them?” Damian asked. “The reindeer can stay down here with Batcow until we find more suitable arrangements.”  
  
Bruce ran a hand down his face wearily, muttering something about how it was way too late for this.  
  
“You have a lovely home,” one of the elves said.  
  
“Thank you, Sugar Plum. This is actually the Batcave, but I’m sure you’ll like the rest of the house just as much.”  
  
Tim walked over to Dick, and leaned in close. “This is weird, right? Like, even for Damian?”  
  
Dick shrugged. “I guess. It’s kind of adorable, though.”  
  
Tim looked exasperated. Surely Dick couldn’t be the only one who found Damian’s antics really damn cute, right?  
  
“This is hilarious, is what it is,” Jason interjected, grinning wildly. “Merry fucking Christmas, am I right?”   
  
They walked out of the Batcave, a crowd of elves in front of them, and a small hoard of flying reindeer behind them, and yeah, when could Christmas for them ever be normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE!!! Sorry for the incredibly long wait guys, I have no excuse. Just hope you guys enjoyed this! Thank you for all your lovely comments throughout this :)


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